


Possessive

by quinngrey



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Hand Jobs, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinngrey/pseuds/quinngrey
Summary: In which Mairon drinks and flirts with Gothmog and Melkor is having none of that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a request for jealousy and angbang. Second chapter has smut.

The wine had been flowing freely throughout the evening, celebrating and partying as they often did after a series of well won battles. The past two years had drawn on for such a long time, the cold winter bitter to all who dared venture above ground. Yet here in their underground fortress, thermal heat and the sheer power of their Lord and his many accompanying inferno Maia radiated the space comfortably. At the head of the stone table, Melkor’s great boots lay where his feet crossed, a goblet in his gloved hand, and for a change he seemed to be enjoying the festivities around him. 

At his right, Mairon swirled the wine in his glass before drowning the last of it in one lengthy sip. Without bothering to look, his hand held the glass up and slightly back, waiting for one of the slaves to refill it. He wasn’t entirely sure just how much wine he had consumed, but he was finally feeling the weight of everything lifting from his shoulders. The room was starting to spin, something he rarely experienced, and despite it he took another sip of his wine. 

“Can’t say I have seen you so at ease in a long while, Mairon,” Gothmog rumbled, his deep voice stirring something in the lieutenant as the balrog captain leaned in and rest his large hand on his lithe shoulder. It was warm, much like the rest of him, and soothing. “You should rest more, else you’ll burn until you’re ash.”

“I do not believe you ought get used to it,” Mairon quipped in retort, placing his hand over the other’s. “Battles to win, Arda to destroy. The usual. I shall rest when I am cast into the Void at last.”

Gothmog couldn’t help but smirk. “Dedication is one thing, this is another.”

“You’re questioning my methods, Captain.”

“Not questioning, calling them stupid,” he laughed, the sound a booming that made Mairon tingle. 

It had been some time since another had stirred something in him, someone other than his Master, and the lieutenant couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. “Not wise to call the second in command stupid, Gothmog. Best keep that sharp tongue to yourself lest I cut it out.”

“A worthy challenge from a worthy competitor!”

“Perhaps when I have had less wine,” Mairon chuckled, leaning closer to Gothmog, their hands still one atop the other on his shoulder. “Not a fair fight when I’m like this.”

Gothmog couldn’t help but lean closer as well, drawn in by the way the other Maia moved. “You have never wanted play fair before, why start now?”

“Perhaps you are right,” Mairon hummed, his tongue darting across his wine stained lips to dampen them. “Do not feel too sorry for yourself when you lose even still.”

The scrape of boots from the head of the table startled them both, having been so caught up in their conversation. Mairon’s eyes flicked behind him to where Melkor had gotten to his feet, feeling that dark burning gaze on him. He couldn’t help but squirm, his hand dropping from Gothmog’s on his shoulder as the balrog’s great hand disappeared as well. 

Gloved hands curled into fists at his side, Melkor’s jaw was set so tightly that it was obvious the muscle underneath was clenching. Mairon’s mouth went dry, though his lips twitched into a small smirk at the sight. Turning back to Gothmog, though the Captain was staring firmly into his ale and not at either Mairon or the Vala who was now gripping the wooden back of the chair. 

“My Lord,” Mairon glanced back once more, swirling his wine in thought. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he pushed ever further. “Gothmog and I were going to excuse ourselves for a spar, maybe a lava bath after,” he hummed, ignoring how the balrog tensed beside him. Clearly he didn’t wish to play with fire when the fire in question was the Black Foe himself. “Were you off for the evening as well?”

The feel of strong fingers tangling in the back of his hair, pulling his head backward, made Mairon hiss in pain. His wine glass hit the table as his hand lowered, just narrowly avoiding being spilled everywhere. Grateful that only Gothmog and the Uruk captain across the table had noticed the display, he tried his best to keep his features even. The wine, however, was making it exceedingly difficult to control this useless form. 

“You will be accompanying me, lieutenant,” Melkor growled, tone dangerous and low enough only for the two Maiar to hear. “On your feet. Do not make a scene unless you wish I take you here in front of those who deem you worthy of their respect.” 

Breath hitching, Mairon’s eyes shuttered closed, his cock stirring from the threat. He had no doubt that his Master would follow through if he did not obey, but merciful Void, it was exciting to think he had driven the Vala to this by having a little flirt with his balrog friend. Jealousy was a good look on him. Slowly, he rose to his feet as the hand shifted from his hair to the back of his neck, steady and firm. 

“Bid everyone a goodnight, Mairon. I want them to know you are leaving, and that you are mine.”

Clearing his throat, he blinked his eyes open once more and lifted his wine glass again. For a moment the words did not come, but soon the attention of the room was falling to him and the room fell quiet, waiting. “Enjoy the festivities tonight,” he began, his voice wavering just barely under the drink and the hand at his neck. “We… er- we will begin again day after tomorrow, so let the wine and ale flow freely.” Raising his glass as if to toast, he waited for the others to do the same before concluding. “To our Lord, the King of Arda.”

The others repeated the chant for the toast before all downed their drinks, but Mairon could hardly manage a sip before the glass had been set back down. Melkor’s lips were at his neck now, his sharp teeth teasing the flesh. “Well done, pet. As tomorrow you have given the day off, I am going to remind you the consequences of your little stunt tonight.”

“Stunt, my Lord?” He whispered, barely able to get the words out as the other began to draw him away from the table. The Vala gripped the back of his neck tighter, the glove not nearly as pleasing as his charred fingers usually felt against his skin. The hem of his robes caught under his foot once they finally made it into the corridor, stumbling slightly, but Melkor caught him by the hair. He gasped, feeling the cold stone wall against his face before he even realized that his Master had shoved him against it. 

“You know exactly what you were doing,” Melkor snarled into his ear, his chest pressing against the Maia’s back. “Flirting with Gothmog as if you do not belong to me already.” He brought one gloved hand up, biting the tip of the finger to pull the leather off to expose the blacked skin. Mairon could have swooned at the sight, parting his lips as two fingers pushed into his mouth, moaning around the digits. “I should make you beg forgiveness, little flame.”

Swirling his tongue around the digits, Mairon’s head spun from wine and arousal. He managed a weak whine, trying desperately to push his hips back, to rub his arse against his Master’s cock. But Melkor did not allow it, his other arm pressing against the small of his back to keep him firmly held to the stone. As his Master’s fingers withdrew, he wiped the spit slick digits down Mairon’s cheek. 

“No, you do not deserve pleasure this night. I am the only one who decides when you get to enjoy yourself,” he reminded. “You’re mine.”

Shivering at the words, Mairon nodded breathlessly. “Yours, always,” he managed. “I’m yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melkor reminds Mairon whom he belongs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes very dubcon, perhaps even noncon by the end. Whoops.

Mairon shivered as his Master’s hand slipped into his robes, making quick work of the lacing of his leggings. From where they were standing, should anyone leave the great hall, there would be little doubt what was occurring between them. His cheek scraped against the hard rock of the wall when those beautifully charred fingers wrapped around his cock. All too fast the Vala stroked him to fullness, his body aching for the touch. 

“Such a filthy slut,” Melkor chided at his ear, sharp teeth nipping at the lobe. “You would let anyone touch you, wouldn’t you?” The rhetorical question made Mairon’s face burn in shame, trying desperately to stifle the moan as his Master’s wrist flicked just so. “Perhaps I should let each of the Captains get their fill of my Lieutenant.”

“My Lord, please,” Mairon gasped, trying to turn under the firm hold, his hand coming up to claw weakly at the wall. “I would never- ah!” Too much, too rough. His Master’s hand had cupped his delicate sac, tugging at it ruthlessly until his vision darkened at the edges in pain. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, please, sorry,” his words rushed out in a breath, barely audible over the noise of the great hall. 

Yet his Lord was not a merciful sort, roughly massaging the sac before tugging it once more. Mairon cried out, fingers curling against the stone until they began to bleed. His eyes shut tightly, trying to get air into his lungs. When at last the blackened hand returned to his cock he sobbed his relief, but even still it was short sighted. Melkor sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of the Maia’s neck, sucking a dark bruise into the pale skin where it was far too high to be easily covered. 

Keening as the hand soothed him, he was grateful for the reprieve from pain. The touch was steady, quickened like his own breath until he felt the coiling deep within him of imminent release. Babbling, he begged to come, pleaded with his Master to meet his peek. When at last he felt his body aching, teetering at the edge, the hand had pulled away completely leaving him unfulfilled. 

“No, no, no, please,” he tried, barely able to turn his head enough to see the dark force behind him. Melkor’s grin was too wide, taunting and vicious as he spun Mairon around to face him fully now. The movement made him dizzy, everything spinning as he tried his damndest to focus on his Master’s face. 

Now with the his back against the solid stone wall, thin fabric catching and pulling audibly, he felt more exposed than ever. His hardened cock stood proudly in the open space between them, flushed red as it leaked from the tip. Valar be damned, the wine didn’t help in the slightest. Long and intricate braids coming apart from where they had been held, his honeyed eyes wide and dark with desire, he was a picture of utter debauchery. 

“My pretty little whore,” Melkor crooned, hands coming up to caress his cheek. “Wanton and desperate for your release… yet it is I who allows you, is it not?”

Nodding weakly, Mairon managed to swallow despite the dryness of his throat. “Only you, Master,” he rasped, “only you.” 

“Are you certain? I could have sworn you might give yourself to any who provided you the slightest hint of attention,” he hummed, the sound cruel to Mairon’s ears as a hand found his cock once more. Thumb rubbing over the slit, spreading the fluid there, Melkor’s eyes did not leave his. The Maia couldn’t help the moan that bubbled up in his throat, body quivering from the overstimulation. 

Unsure if the question deserved an answer, he opted instead for avoiding it altogether, trying to crane his neck so he might kiss his Master. Unsurprisingly, Melkor pulled back, rejecting the advance as his other hand stuck him across the face. His ears rang from the blow, blinking several times to try and clear the noise. He was barely aware of the way the Vala nudged his knee between Mairon’s legs. When the solid thigh collided with his aching cock a strangled cry escaped him. 

“To whom do you belong, slut?”

“To you, Master! Please, to you” Mairon’s back pressed hard against the wall, the thigh between his legs rough but so good. He was having a hard time keeping upright as it was, and when Melkor’s hand grasped his shoulder to keep him standing he was grateful. Those sharp teeth found his throat once more, nipping at the tender flesh before sucking more dark, possessive marks. He moaned under the attention, broken and desperate. 

“Say it again, in full,” the Vala growled. 

“I belong- fuck, I belong to you!”

Those dark fingers curled around his cock once more, stroking him firmly, making his entire form feel as though he might explode from the sensation. His eyes began to roll back, biting his lip until he tasted blood, hips rocking into the touch. “Please,” he managed, “close… need- ahhhh…”

Mairon’s body was growing tense, the wave of orgasm barreling toward him quickly. Every sense that he had was overwhelmed, overloaded. His sac tightened, entire form quivering on the brink of release. Melkor was milking him for all he was worth, but all too quickly the Vala withdrew and tears spilled down Mairon’s cheeks in the frustration of it all. “No, no, no, no, no,” he begged, his hands going to his own cock in desperation caught in a firm grasp and yanked over his head. 

“You do not deserve to come this night, and so you will not. Is that understood?”

Though he had heard the words, he couldn’t even begin to process their meaning, shaking his head pathetically. Melkor’s free hand went to his throat, lifting Mairon’s chin as he cut off his breath. 

“Look at me, slut,” he commanded, every bit menacing as he had ever been. Unfocused honeyed eyes darted for a moment until they settled on that burning dark gaze, brow creased. “I said… you do not deserve to come, and come you will not. Am I understood?”

Breathless, the Maia managed a small noise of understanding, barely loud enough for his Master to hear before the Vala dropped his hands, his neck, and his body quickly slid to the floor in front of the other. Drawing in ragged, gasping breaths, Mairon’s tears did not cease to fall to the cold stone floor. He was unsure he could move from this spot at all when Melkor’s fingers curled into his hair and lifted his head once more. 

“If you disobey me, I will know,” he warned. “Now get up and be gone from my sight.”

Mairon struggled to right himself, even aided by the pull of his hair that forced him to his feet. His bloodied hand, which he had forgotten about, gripped the wall weakly as his Master’s hand released him. Stumbling away without even bothering to right his clothes, he could feel the burn of the Vala’s gaze on his back. Perhaps next time he wouldn’t push too far, he internalized, silent until he rounded the corner of the corridor. 

When at last he was gone from the other’s view, he collected himself, wiping the pathetic tears from his face even as they continued to fall against his will. There was little doubt whom he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, requests welcome.


End file.
